In the Finite

Wasted time will break a heart faster than any failure.

Don’t distract me with the useless, but fill this limited space up with intention and living.

Trying and caring, in no particular order, as long as each is present.

No manipulations, no perfections, just things as they desperately are,

as I am, in the finite.

-recent thoughts

Pardon

Washington State has tulips on the brain this month. I know, I know. "Florals? For Spring? Groundbreaking." BUT to keep things interesting, I’ll also leave you with a snippet of Emerson’s Hamatraya. One particular line is pulled out of context and printed on many a mass-produced garden sign, while the rest of the poem is, in fact, quite dark. I recommend you read the entire thing!

“..Where are these men? Asleep beneath their grounds:

And strangers, fond as they, their furrows plough.

Earth laughs in flowers, to see her boastful boys

Earth-proud, proud of the earth which is not theirs;

Who steer the plough, but cannot steer their feet

Clear of the grave..”